Prussian Yarns

By Laurie Campbell

Desperate to escape the military, Otto von Goff marries wealthy heiress Hildegard von Puttkamer in a marriage of convenience. Even though they are fond of each other, Hildegard needs Otto to help ensure her familys beautiful Prussian estate of Schnwald stays within her control. True to form, when Hildegards father passes away, Otto inherits the estate as Hildegards husband. But the von Puttkamer family wants Schnwald for their own and will stop at nothing to get it

Years later, in 1860, Hildegards mother dies, and her will reveals an alarming message: Hildegards distant male cousin, Berthold, is to take charge of Hildegards inheritance instead of Otto, a move that threatens to strip Hildegard and her daughter of their rightful heritage in Schnwald. Not only must Otto contest the will to safeguard his wife and daughter, but also to keep everything he has worked so hard for from being destroyed. Surrounded by enemies at every turn, Otto must gather all his resources to fight for his familys legacy or risk losing it all.

Set in the lush landscape of Prussia in 1860, this historical novel goes deep into the heart of one familys struggle to maintain their heritage in the midst of turmoil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: May 4, 2011
• ISBN: 9781426965562

Laurie Campbell

Laurie Campbell grew up playing paper dolls with her sister, but spent far less time selecting their clothes than creating situations for the characters to act out. By the time they outgrew paper dolls, the characters were so real that Laurie started writing a book about six beautiful sisters who lived next door to six dashing brothers. She swears she'll finish that novel someday. But meanwhile, she enjoys writing about ordinary people in extraordinary situations that could happen to anyone who want the best for those they love. Laurie spends her weekends writing romance, and her weekdays producing TV commercials for a Phoenix advertising agency. She also works as a marriage counselor, teaches a catechism class, speaks to writing groups on psychology for creating characters, coaches newly diagnosed diabetics, and spends any free time playing with her husband and teenage son (who helps her solve plot problems). For getaway weekends, they travel to Arizona's red-rock country of Sedona...which was named for Laurie's great-grandmother, Sedona Schnebly.

Book preview

P R U S S I A N   Y A R N S

by

Laurie Campbell

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© Copyright 1984, 2011 Laurie Campbell.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

The first of a series

Printed in the United States of America.

ISBN: 978-1-4269-6554-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4269-6555-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4269-6556-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011905981

Trafford rev. 04/29/2011

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North America & international

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Contents

Chapter One:

February 1860

Chapter Two:

Otto’s Yarn

Chapter Three:

March 1860

Chapter Four:

Hildegard’s Yarn

Chapter Five:

April 1860

Chapter Six:

More Hildegard’s Yarn

Chapter Seven:

May 1860

Chapter Eight:

Baltic Yarns

Chapter Nine:

June 1860

Chapter Ten:

Friedel’s Yarn

Chapter Eleven:

July 1860

Chapter Twelve:

More Pet Yarns

Chapter Thirteen:

August 1860

Chapter Fourteen:

Relative Yarns

Chapter Fifteen:

September 1860

Chapter Sixteen:

Schönwald Yarns

Glossary

Chapter One:

February 1860

Smiling to himself in his usual good natured way, Otto von Goff closed the kitchen door and leaned against it. Despite the soft urgings of his dog to get on with whatever had made him take her from a warm bed into the frigid outdoors at four o’clock in the morning, Otto gave himself a moment to get used to the cold while his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

When his oatmeal coloured setter, Haferbrei, became visible as a moving patch of paler dark against the dense black of the stairs in front of him, Otto realised there was no point in waiting any longer hoping to see better. Taking his ever-present pipe from his mouth, he grumbled affectionately to Haferbrei, If you’d told me it was going to be this dark, I would have brought a lamp.

He heard her tail thump against the stone walls of the stairs as she wagged in response. He made no move to go back into the house to get a lamp. Instead, he held his pipe behind his back, as far from his nose as he could reach, so that, as he mounted the half-flight of stone stairs up to ground level, he walked up through the cloud of smoke he’d made into the fresh air.

Knowing the stairs so well he could climb them without looking, Otto reached the back yard ahead of the pipe smoke and took a deep breath to test the air, his eyes closed in concentration.

The winter air was still, with hardly a breeze. Crisp, but nowhere near as cold as he had expected. No scent of rain, or snow. Why so dark then?

Puffing on his pipe, Otto searched the skies. He couldn’t see a single star, nor any sign of the moon. There was not so much as a moon-glow behind the clouds which had moved in silently over night.

Heavy cloud cover, then; heavy enough it’s acted like a blanket for the living earth. That’s put an end to that bone-chilling cold we’ve had since Christmas.

He told Haferbrei as he started to walk towards his stables, It’ll be as good a day as we can get for travelling in February, but we’d better be back by tonight. If a wind comes in and clouds that thick let go, it’ll come down heavy whether it comes down wet or white.

There was no other human being outside with him, not even the slow-witted man who was usually splitting kindling over in the corner by the time Otto ventured outside. The glow of the embers in his pipe, which reddened when he drew on it, was the only light he could see.

Sure footed in the dark from fourteen years of walking from his manor house to his stables and back again several times a day, Otto walked with Haferbrei along the earthen path that took them diagonally lengthways across the back yard, the Gutshof, his hands in his pockets to keep them warm, his pipe clenched in his teeth. He felt rather than saw the looming density of deeper darkness on his right, which was the great mass of the manor house. On his left another sensation of solidness and size was the huge stable complex, second only to the manor house in bulk and presence.

As he walked Otto tested the path, concentrating on the way his boots felt against the surface, and the sounds they made. He was pleased to find the earth firm beneath his feet. No feeling of mud or ice. He stomped harder a few times to be sure, then nodded to himself, satisfied that there would be good footing for his horse.

When he heard his boots on the cobblestones before the stable door, he stopped to put his pipe out before going in. As soon as Otto stood still, Haferbrei padded off as she always did, down the path between the poultry sheds and the stables to wait for Otto at his usual exit door. Otto looked back across the Gutshof towards the poultry sheds, walled gardens, berry patches, and orchards, which he could not see in the dark. Shaking his head at himself for his force of habit, he turned his attention back to his embers, making short work of extinguishing every last one when the darkness showed them up so clearly.

Once he was satisfied there was no chance of a stray ember to fall onto loose straw, Otto slipped his pipe into his pocket and stepped into the black well of the thick old stable wall. The door was set back into the wall to give protection from the weather to those entering. On a normal winter morning the lamp that hung over the door would have been lit for him, but he was too early even for that. He found the door latch by feel, and let himself into the familiar warmth of the stables. After the fresh outside air, the fuggy stable smells hit him at once.

Soon the stables would be a hive of activity, but now the rows of horse stalls stretched away from him, dark and quiet. He could see nothing, but he could hear the horses put their heads out of their stalls, whoofling softly to one another, shuffling and stomping, snorting great breaths of curiosity. As he passed each stall he murmured lovingly to the horse inside to reassure it. He felt his way along the aisle from the Gutshof door to the corner by running his fingers lightly along the stalls as he went.

It wasn’t until he was nearly at the corner that he saw a faint glow from oil lamps in the transverse aisle. His eyes were so used to the dark by then that it took very little light for him to have enough to walk confidently towards the corner without feeling his way. When he rounded the corner he blinked as he faced the light.

Mein Herr, the stableman, Helmuth Schmidt, greeted Otto, adding with disapproval, You don’t got no light. Helmuth was standing by the west side door with the head groom who was sleepily preparing Otto’s favourite saddle horse for a winter excursion. When he heard Otto’s voice, Artur did his best to appear fully awake rather than chilled and just pulled from bed.

Helmuth, Artur, Otto answered, acknowledging them both, but with eyes only for his horse, Mechtild. She stretched her neck towards him, moving her rubbery lips in soundless greeting. She was already out of her stall, brushed and wearing a riding bridle.

Helmuth looked askance at the great caped coat Otto was wearing. Too cold to ride out. Her’n catch a chill, he warned, sucking air in through the holes in his teeth with a whistling sound the way he did when he disapproved of something.

Put a blanket on her, then, Otto advised, petting and nuzzling Mechtild, taking no offence that his stableman grumbled at him.

Helmuth grumbled about everything, but he gave first rate care to the horses, and for that quality of work Otto would have put up with a lot more than dourness from Helmuth. Terrible cold, Helmuth persisted while Artur put a blanket on Mechtild, then left to go and fetch her saddle. You doesn’t even wear a hat outside. Freeze your brain, you will. Cousin Frieda worked for a man once what wouldn’t wear a hat. Terrible that was.

What was so terrible?

Cousin Frieda didn’t have no one to work for no more. Terrible hard for a widow woman with all them children and no work. Her had to marry again.

Using every ounce of self control that he could summon up, Otto prevented himself from asking any more questions, and, what he was even more proud of, didn’t so much as twitch a lip in amusement. Like an obedient child he showed that he had a hat, scarf, and gloves in his pockets, telling Helmuth. Your lady wife made me promise to put them on when I ride. I swear, I’m the only Gutsherr in all of Prussia who’s surrounded by a flock of clucking hens. I have to go, regardless. Today the probate is reading Frau von Puttkamer’s Will.

Helmuth glanced around to see if Artur had heard him called a clucking hen, but Artur was out of sight and ear-shot. Although Otto was only of average height, Helmuth was barely above his shoulder, needing to look up to grumble at him, No good can come in a year what comes to us behind a coffin. Start the year wearing black, sorrow all year.

Otto nodded. He had not liked his mother-in-law, and was relieved to be free of her constant criticism and disapproval, but she had been Gutsherrin, mistress, of Schönwald for nearly forty years and the people of Schönwald grieved for her. That isn’t as much an omen as a statement of fact, he said gently. The first year after a death is always the hardest.

Helmuth would not be swayed. No good comes in a year as starts with a death, he insisted in sepulchral tones, bobbing his greyed head up and down in his earnestness. First thing her done in the New Year, her died. Never said good morning to nobody; not good day nor happy New Year. Put a foot on the floor, stood up, and dropped down dead. That’s not a good sign, that’s not.

Otto hastily cleared his throat. Turning towards the door to hide a persistent twitch that threatened to break out of his control into a smile, he clamped his molars together and pressed so hard that a sharp pain in his jaw killed the twitch. In the most sombre tone he could manage he assured Helmuth who was following him with a lamp, D’you know, I don’t believe it was die Frau’s choice to die without wishing anyone happy New Year.

Her’n the Gutsherrin. House run on her wishes. Her didn’t wish no good on the house this year.

Otto held the door open for Helmuth, then closed it behind them. With relief he took his pipe out of his pocket as soon as he was outside, and proceeded to create a smokescreen around his head to hide the expressions on his face from Helmuth. He took Helmuth’s concern seriously. He might not share the superstitions, but he knew better than to ignore them. This time sincerely, he attempted to reassure Helmuth. Actions speak louder than words. A Gutsherrin can bless her house with her actions even more than by her words. Frau von Puttkamer might not have been able to give any last words, but she loved Schönwald and tended the house well for a lifetime. She gave her blessing for the New Year in everything she did for Schönwald every day of the year. Otto would have preferred that his wife, Hildegard, ran her own house, but he couldn’t admit that to Helmuth.

Helmuth persisted. Her’n brought back the curse on Schönwald.

Otto shook his big, blond head. Frau von Puttkamer never cursed anything in her life.

The curse were started when young master Nicholaus died on the New Year of 1800.

That had nothing to do with any curse. He got drunk celebrating the new century and fell off the roof. Anyway, that was sixty years ago. Schönwald has not had sixty years of bad times. As a matter of fact, she’s never done as well as she’s doing now.

That’s as maybe, but there been no sons born to no Gutsherr of Schönwald since. Old Gutsherr, him had five fine sons ‘til then, got no more and lost them one by one ‘til only Herr Friedrich left to be Gutsherr, and him not the pick of the litter. Helmuth hastily made a warding sign to protect himself from speaking ill of the dead. Otto stared in surprise that Helmuth would say such a thing. And him had no sons and two daughters and you got no sons and only one daughter. What else can happen to we if’n it all starts again?

Otto, who couldn’t think of what to say to that, was very glad to have Artur open the door and lead Mechtild out. To buy himself time to think of something to say, Otto checked Mechtild’s tack carefully, and made sure he ended up standing on the opposite side of Mechtild from Helmuth to hide his face behind her. He realised now that Helmuth was deeply afraid. Scrambling to find something, anything, that might mitigate the fear a bit, he insisted, That was not Frau von Puttkamer’s doing, and there’s no curse involved in her death. It’s God who decided her time had come, not her, and you can’t tell me anything God does is a bad thing.

Helmuth persisted, New Year’s Day were the Sabbath. Not the right way to spend the Sabbath.

Caught by surprise, Otto was very glad he could hide his expression behind Mechtild. He wiped the amusement off his face by pulling one hand over his beard and giving it a sharp tug. Struggling to produce a serious tone of voice, he said, I don’t think die Frau did any work on that Sabbath.

Others had to, Helmuth countered gravely. I had to send Artur here to get that doctor what did her no good.

Now you can’t blame the doctor for that. She was dead before he got here. There’s nothing any doctor could have done. They aren’t supposed to involve themselves in resurrections, you know. That’s religious work. He could not resist that last remark.

Helmuth missed the flippancy. And I had to send Artur to get the minister. It’s all work, you know, for me, for he, for the horses. And it’s work for the minister to tend the grieving and the dead, and you can’t tell me it’s not work to lift the dead up off the floor.

Otto, who had lifted Clothild’s body with the help of the butler and a couple of footmen, had to concede that point. I have to leave, he announced.

Can’t go by your own, Helmuth objected. Has to take extra care when signs is bad.

I’m not waiting for anyone else to saddle up now.

Otto mounted Mechtild while Helmuth droned on. Young master Adalbert went riding by his-self when signs was bad, and look what happened to he.

He was galloping full out in the forest like an idiot and broke his head on a low branch. Even when I was young and foolish I was not that foolish, and I’m no longer that young. I’ll thank you not to compare me with any more of Herr Friedrich’s long lost brothers. Now listen to me, Helmuth, I’m serious. I am going to Eberswalde for the reading of the Will then back home, and nowhere else. You are not to send search parties all over the countryside. Is that clear? Nothing will happen to me. I’ll stay warm and dry, and I’ll make sure Mechtild does, too.

If’n Artur was to catch you up him could take better care of Mechtild than them mews grooms.

No! Enough! As he whistled Haferbrei to Mechtild’s side, Otto was amused to see the look of stark relief on Artur’s face.

Riding along the tree-lined avenue past the west wing of the manor house to the road, Otto automatically looked towards the third floor of the east wing where his daughter, Luise, lay sleeping, even though he could not see it. He allowed Mechtild to find her own pace in the dark, feeling his tensions relax and his good humour restoring itself. He knew exactly what to expect from the Will. Clothild would have left everything to Hildegard, except for mementos to Luise, servants, friends, and her side of the family. If Otto was mentioned at all, it would only be in directions on how Clothild wanted him to administer Hildegard’s inheritance if she hadn’t trusted Hildegard to do it herself.

Even his tension over Helmuth’s fears subsided. The loss of all four of Friedrich’s brothers belonged to previous generations. Most of it had happened before Helmuth was even born. All Otto had to do was keep to his normal routines and the fearfulness would fade. So cheered, he chuckled a little at the memory of the look on Artur’s face when he heard he didn’t have to scramble onto a horse and ride all the way after Otto without a chance to wake up properly or have anything to eat first.

***

Later in the day, when she finally awoke in the east wing of the manor house, Frau von Goff, Hildegard, the lady of the house, lay in her darkened rooms, grieving the loss of her mother, utterly prostrate. Her lady’s maid, Philomele Hübner, took care of her tenderly, moving about in the gloom with hardly a sound. Try to take a little rest, meine Frau, she coaxed. It will do you good.

I can’t go on, I can’t go on, Hildegard whimpered.

There, there, meine Frau. Philomele soothed her brow with cool, scented, damp cloths.

Whatever shall I do? I can’t go on without meine Mutter. She broke into tortured sobs. Eight weeks after her mother’s death, Hildegard still had not stirred from her rooms, where she spent the days in protracted weeping interspersed with loud sobbing and occasional wailing. The drops and potions she took to settle her nerves gave her nights of heavy sleep from which she woke groggily, too disoriented to get up. When the restorative drops given to her in the morning brought enough clarity of mind that she could remember again her devastating loss, waves of despair overtook her, especially if she recalled the responsibilities that were now hers alone.

Frau von Puttkamer would expect you to go on, meine Frau.

It’s too much for me. I’m not strong like she was. She knew that. Oh, how could she leave me like this?

Philomele spoke gently, soothingly, It will take time, meine Frau. Don’t fret yourself. The day will come when you’ll be just as good a hausfrau as your dear mother was.

Oh, I can’t. I can’t. Whatever shall I do? Where’s Frau Blücher? I need her.

She’ll be here shortly, meine Frau. When you wake she’ll be here.

***

Down the hall from Hildegard’s rooms, Otto and Hildegard’s daughter, Luise, dressed all in mourning, sat alone on the floor beside her parrot’s cage, whispering to him. Her elderly governess dozed in her chair by the fire, snoring slightly.

Careful not to disturb her governess, Luise pulled the drapes back a crack to open the window and let in some fresh air. Her big red macaw fluffed his feathers appreciatively. A few minutes later, bored in the silence and stillness, Luise looked around the nursery for some entertainment. The new nursery maid was diligently hemming a sheet by the light of the candelabra above the table. Luise knew talking to her would be taking a great risk of waking the governess and being put back in front of her schoolbooks. Not willing to return to her lessons, Luise waited until the maid wasn’t looking, then slipped carefully through the servant’s door, tiptoed down the narrow switchback stairway until she was sure she was far enough away, then dashed triumphantly down the flights of stairs, all the way down to the kitchens to be indulged by the stout cook.

***

By the time Otto returned to Schönwald at the end of the day, his cheer was gone. The first numbing shock that the Will he had expected to be a mere formality had, in fact, turned his whole world upside down, had worn off during the ride home leaving a boiling rage. At the end of the day Otto was marching across his fields blindly. How could it have come to this? bellowed inside his head as if he’d roared it out loud, though the only sound he was making was the thump of his boot heels hitting the hard packed path with bone jarring thuds. How could it? How did this happen? he demanded mentally as he strode away from the stables to put some distance between himself and his household so that he wouldn’t hurt any of them. It wasn’t their fault things had taken this nasty turn.

He’d been this close, this close! to taking the riding crop to Helmuth a few moments ago, and all Helmuth had done was scold him for riding Mechtild to a lather. No good telling himself any one else would have struck Helmuth without a second thought for having the gall to scold his master; Otto didn’t use violence on anyone for any reason.

Besides, he was right! Otto admitted, his anger turning on himself for riding Mechtild as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. He slammed the stable yard gate behind him, berating himself as he did so, How could you use her like that? As faithful as she’s been to you? She’s been with you through thick and thin, the best mount you’ve ever had, and when something goes wrong you make her suffer? Otto hit the top rail of the wooden fence with his riding crop as he walked past it, lashing the wood in rage. That mare has been a better friend to you than most people, and that’s the way you treat her?

The riding crop rebounded, the recoil stung Otto’s hand and focused his fury on the crop itself. He whipped it so hard against the fence rails that it broke. He threw it to the ground and stamped on it. Damn! He kicked the pieces, cursing, Damn you, and damn that woman! The mere thought of his mother-in-law so upset Otto that he picked up the pieces of the riding crop, hurled them as hard as he could, then stormed off across the fields.

Haferbrei more or less kept pace with him, while staying well out of his reach. Even in his rage he could see her out of the corner of his eye, running as hunting dogs do, nose to the ground, back and forth, looping around, over and between the last patches of grubby, evaporating snow left from the December snowfalls. Although he admitted to himself that she was wise to keep her distance, it infuriated him that she should have to. Normally, he prided himself on being a reasonable man, in full control of himself. I am not like my father! he shouted at her.

And there was her anxious, frowning dog’s face peering at him from behind a tree. When she was sure he wasn’t angry with her, off she went again, tail high, nose to the ground. He noticed that she hadn’t volunteered to approach him. With a massive effort of self control, he willed himself to be calmer, then whistled Haferbrei to his side. She came, instantly, obediently, but not confidently. There’s a good girl, he told her, in the most encouraging voice he could manufacture, and was instantly rewarded by a wagging tail, pricked ears, and loving eyes.

Otto dropped to one knee to pat and hug his dog. Oh, my girl, he crooned to her. My own true love. I’m heartily ashamed of myself. I hate to think I make everyone else suffer when I’m upset, but that’s what I did, isn’t it? And I was so confident, too, when we set out this morning to settle that woman’s estate. Otto got back to his feet, forcing himself to keep calm as he felt the heat rising in his face again. Come on, then, he called Haferbrei, as he strode away, trying to walk off the anger. I should’ve known better! I should have expected that she’d find a way to interfere, even from the grave. He spotted a leaf of green, incongruous amidst the dried grey and brown winter grass. Weeds just won’t die out, he muttered.

Eventually the rage dissipated enough to let him think, and he began to sort the situation out in his mind. I can’t let the von Puttkamers control everything Clothild left to Hildegard. I must not let that happen. I fought them too hard in the first place to give in to them now.

He walked to the top of a knoll and stood there, looking back at the stables and other farm buildings beside the massive manor house, and over to the forest where tendrils of smoke told where the village of Schönwald lay hidden. There are too many good people who’re loyal to me living and working on Clothild’s properties for me to let the von Puttkamers put them out – and they will put them out, without a second thought. The moment they set foot on any place, anyone they think is loyal to me will be out. He plucked a dead stem and slapped it on his palm, thinking out loud. Surely to goodness Clothild could tell that Berthold won’t manage her estate properly. If even one of them had any idea how to tend property, Schönwald wouldn’t have been in nearly the mess she was in when I got her!

The rising anger in his voice made Haferbrei draw away from him again. Otto sighed and allowed her to go, telling her she was a good dog to set her mind at ease, while he walked down the slope to his hop frames without her.

The frames looked the way he felt, stark and bleak under dull grey February skies. He picked absentmindedly at fragments of dried hop vines still clinging to the wooden frames, his thoughts on his late mother-in-law’s Will and what it would mean to him, his family, his household, and Schönwald herself, if he didn’t fight it. I must form a plan, he decided. It’s no good hoping things will turn out right, I’ll just have to make my own luck. Verdampt! I thought I took care of everything when I defeated that lot before.

When Otto had inherited the von Puttkamer lands in 1846 as the husband of the heiress, his wife’s family had challenged his inheritance in court. In 1848 Otto had won the right to be considered Master of Schönwald, Gutsherr of Schönwald, the family seat, but all of the lesser pieces of property had reverted to the von Puttkamers. Even knowing that they had never ceased to consider themselves the rightful heirs to Schönwald, Otto had believed for the last 12 years that the court decision was final, and he would have no further legal trouble from the male cousins of his wife, Hildegard, the von Puttkamer heiress.

He fished in his pockets, mumbling to himself, until he found his pipe, his tobacco, and his tinderbox. Slowly, thoughtfully, he went through his ritual of filling his pipe, tamping the tobacco down, sparking the flint, and lighting the pipe. He lit and relit the pipe, talking to it until he was able to pull a long, satisfying draw from it. Then, his head wreathed in drifting smoke, he put his tobacco pouch and his tinderbox back into his pockets, but he kept the flint in his hand. When he stretched out his hand to make a mark with the flint on the wooden hop frame, he paused for a moment, taken by the sight of his own hands. The backs of his hands were hairless, their fair smooth skin, and clean, neatly trimmed nails looking for all the world like the hands of a pampered man. The only indication from the backs of his hands of how hard he worked physically on his land was the crookedness of one finger than had been broken. The indentations on the thumb sides of both of his forefingers were not from hard work, but from sloppy riding discipline, because he had a habit of letting his wrists drop on long rides, which left the reins pressing on the pad of muscle between the second and third joint. Over the years that had permanently indented his fingers.

It was the palm sides of his hands that indicated Otto’s work ethic, bearing as they did the scars of accidents with tools over the years, and the calluses of regular hard work. Each mark and scar reminded Otto of more than his history with Schönwald, it made him feel that he’d put his all into every part of the estate. He shook his head and turned to making marks with the flint on the wooden hop frames, talking to himself all the while.

One: it’s her personal property to do with as she wished, and if she wanted to put that greedy old goat in charge of it, it’s none of my concern if it all ends up in his pocket.

Otto interrupted himself, shaking his head. I can’t believe she wanted to cut me down so much that she’d rather let Berthold make off with Hildegard’s inheritance than miss the chance to slight me.

He stared off into space for a moment, trying to come to terms with it. It was a public insult to put anyone in charge of a woman’s inheritance in place of her husband, but Otto was more bewildered that angry about it now. He shook his head and continued, Two: if it all ends up in Berthold’s pocket there will be nothing left for Hildegard. As her husband I should challenge the Will to protect her interests. Three: if there’s nothing left for Hildegard, there’ll be nothing for her to hand on to Luise. Ludi will loose her entire maternal inheritance! I cannot let that happen! I have to challenge the Will! Four: the von Puttkamers will act as if a challenge to the Will is an assault on their entire family. They might even re-open their claim to Schönwald.

He stopped again, shaking his head. Mein Gott, no! I can’t go through that again! He swallowed, tapping the flint on the wood, then made a fifth mark. Five: I have to decide which is the greater risk to Luise; to challenge or not to challenge.

Otto stood and looked at the flint marks on the wood, considering. It doesn’t look as confusing set out like that. He took out his tinderbox, slipped the flint into its slot, tucked the tinderbox back into his pocket, and stood for a moment, straightening his shoulders and his coat. Ja, he agreed with himself. If I fight them they’ll come after me, but if I don’t Luise stands to lose her heritage from her grandmother.

A bitterly cold wind came up, dropping the temperature of the air around him quickly. Otto pulled his coat closer, and considered putting his hat and scarf back on. The wind whipped at him, driving shards of cold air into his face, stinging his cheeks and his eyes. That feels about right for the mood I’m in, he commented. A dried leaf caught up in a sudden gust slammed into his forehead just above his eye, smarting as if he’d been slapped by something much bigger and more dangerous. He called Haferbrei, Come girl! Let’s get in out of this before the snow falls. Let’s go home! Time to gird ourselves for war.

Otto marched as rapidly back to the manor as he had when he’d stormed away in rage, but this time his dog was at his heels. She kept glancing up at him, feeling his sense of purpose and not wanting to miss anything. Otto’s pipe was held tightly in his clenched teeth as he strode along, going over in his mind the actions he had to take. I have to read Friedrich’s Will over and make sure there are no loop holes they can take advantage of. I have to read over the decision from the time that lot took me to court to make sure there are no loopholes there, either. I have to get a copy of Clothild’s Will so I can read it over to see what it really says when it’s not being read to me by the probate, and see what it says in the cold light of day when I’m not too mad to see straight.

When he went out walking across the fields, it was not Otto’s habit to enter his house by the main entrance as befitted the Gutsherr. He preferred to go straight across the kitchen gardens, then across the Gutshof and in through the closest door, regardless of whether that happened to be a servant’s entrance or not. The staff who were loyal to him took no notice when he burst in through side doors and pounded up back stairways, but the older people who were still loyal to the von Puttkamers disapproved strongly of such unseemly behaviour.

Ernst! Otto bellowed for his valet as he approached his rooms. Word of Otto’s mood on his arrival had already spread throughout the manor, so that Ernst approached his master peeved by the condition of his clothes even before he saw them and knew his irritation was justified.

Must you go marching across the fields in your best riding boots, mein Herr? Oh, look at them, just look at them! I doubt those scratches can be repaired, and what will you wear next time you go to town with your good boots in that condition? I don’t know why I try sometimes. I just don’t know.

Don’t fuss, man! Otto snapped. I’ve no time for that. I have to plan my strategy.

Strategy, mein Herr? Ernst stopped lamenting out loud, but he continued to shake his head over the damage Otto had done to his good clothes as he helped Otto change them for perfectly pressed, freshly laundered evening clothes.

Ja, Ernst, strategy. Frau von Puttkamer has left her late husband’s cousin to oversee Frau von Goff’s inheritance and I’ll have to mount a vigorous campaign if I’m to ward them off.

Mein Herr! Ernst was profoundly shocked. Surely she cannot do that.

One would have thought not. However, it appears she has, and that the von Puttkamers are hiring an attorney to see that her wishes are carried out.

Ernst frowned, You will challenge this before the courts, I assume, mein Herr?

You assume correctly.

To leave a distant cousin overseeing a woman’s property in place of her own husband is monstrous! Surely you will have no difficulty in persuading the court of that.

First: never underestimate your opponent. Second: things are never as simple as they seem. Third: that lot learned a few things in the first round and they’ll be ready for me this time. Fourth: if I do challenge the Will I might risk setting them off on a last, desperate attempt to get Schönwald. Fifth: why would Clothild leave her personal estate to be administered by them when she knew full well they got the better portion of the von Puttkamer inheritance from Hildegard when her father died and have nearly ruined that trying to get everything else from Hildegard, too? Sixth: if there’s something happening that makes no sense on the surface, then there’s something behind the scenes that you don’t know about.

Herr von Puttkamer left the estate to you, and nothing they do behind the scenes can change that.

Otto nodded, One would think so. But I have to behave as if it’s a real threat just in case it is. There’s more to this than meets the eye. I’m sure of it.

Is there a way you could find out what that might be, mein Herr?

I don’t know. I’ll start by asking myself all the questions I can think of, and see if the answers give me any ideas of where to look to uncover what’s going on.

Questions, mein Herr?

How could it have come to this? What was that woman thinking? Didn’t she realize that those cousins of Friedrich won’t take care of Hildegard or Luise? They’ll chisel Hildegard out of the money her mother left her, and there’ll be nothing left for Luise. How could Clothild hand her daughter and grand-daughter over to vultures like that? She had no trust in her in-laws. Despite all the things she was that I couldn’t abide, the one thing I did credit her with was caring about Hildegard and Luise. I can’t believe she’d jeopardize them just because she didn’t like me. I can’t believe it! Luise will have no maternal legacy if this goes through. I thought she doted on that child. Surely to goodness she couldn’t harm Luise like that just to hurt me. Well, she won’t! I won’t let her!

And do the answers give you any clues, mein Herr?

I don’t have any answers, Ernst. I’m going to be in my library until Abendbrot, trying to figure out what the answers are. I also need the keys to my desk to take out the documents I need to look at. I’ll have to study them to be sure of where we stand.

I’ll bring the keys to you directly, mein Herr.

Danke. Otto strode off, Haferbrei at his heels.

Ernst turned to look for his page. The boy was standing in the corner, his chin quivering. What is it? Ernst asked him.

The page asked timidly, What will happen to us, Herr Lenz?

As he bustled about setting out Otto’s nightclothes ready for the night, Ernst said briskly, Don’t worry, boy. Herr von Goff will take care of it. It won’t take him any time at all to send those von Puttkamers packing.

But, Herr Lenz, Madam Housekeeper says Herr von Puttkamer is the rightful master of Schönwald, and Herr von Goff is not the master at all, and anyone who isn’t loyal to Herr von Puttkamer will be out on his ear by Easter.

Frau Hess said this to you?

Nein, mein Herr, but Marta said …

Don’t you take any notice of the gossip of silly little serving girls. Herr von Goff is the Gutsherr of Schönwald, rightfully so. You can set your mind at ease on that this very moment, and you can say so to anyone you like. But don’t you tell anyone one word of what you hear der Herr say up here. What is said in the master’s apartments stays in the master’s apartments, is that clear?

Ja, mein Herr.

When was it that Marta talked to you about this?

Everyone was talking about it at Mittagessen, mein Herr.

Ernst straightened up and turned to look the child in the eye with a frown. Is that so? You keep this in mind no matter what you hear around the servant’s table: Herr von Goff is the rightful master, and he will prove that in court once and for all, and nothing will happen to any of us, understand?

Ja, mein Herr.

Now you run and tell Scharnhorst that der Herr is to be found in his library for the evening meal.

Ja, mein Herr.

Once the child was out of earshot, Ernst added under his breath, And you pray that I’m right, or it’ll be a sorry day for all of us.

Otto sat, thinking, in his favourite overstuffed chair, the one that sat on the right of the fireplace in his library. The chair was covered with brown plush, worn smooth where Otto sat and where his hands rested on the chair-arms. He had refused to have it re-covered in case the upholsterers ruined the way the chair fit him. He had preferred to put up with the discomfort of his mother-in-law’s disapproval of its shabbiness than risk having his favourite chair made uncomfortable. Now his mother-in-law had gone on to her reward and he still had his chair the way he liked it.

There was a small fire creating a circle of cosiness where he sat. Haferbrei stretched out in front of the fire with a great doggy sigh and flopped her head onto Otto’s feet. In no time she was snoring in a most unrefined manner.

Otto lit and tamped his pipe, drew on it, cursed it, and lit it again. When at last he was able to get the draw he was looking for from it, he settled back into his chair, blew a long stream of smoke up towards the ceiling, shifted his cramping feet under Haferbrei’s bony head, clamped his pipe in his teeth and worried. He held a pad of paper on his lap, with a large book under to provide a firm surface for writing.

First question: what in God’s name am I going to do?

He tore that one off and threw it into the fire.

He headed one page Questions, turned it over and headed the next one Tasks. Otto mumbled to himself as he wrote, Let’s see, now. Tasks: One: read over Friedrich’s Will. Two: get my hands on a copy of Clothild’s Will. Three: read over the court decision. Wouldn’t it be nice if I could get back some of the land they robbed us of in 1846? That would teach them to try this! Ah, Ernst, my keys. Danke.

Are you having any luck with your questions, mein Herr?

Nein. I’m as lost as I was before I started.

It isn’t good for you to worry like this before the meal, mein Herr. It will not aid your digestion.

Maybe so, but if I don’t prevail I’ll have worse problems than an upset stomach. Otto got up, took the keys from Ernst, and opened the desk. As he fished around inside it looking for the documents, he told Ernst, I used to think when the old bat died they would finally recognize that I’m the Master here. It isn’t happening. I thought her passing would be the end of the old ways, and my ways would automatically be The Way. She used to lead the opposition to me. Someone’s stepped into her shoes. I’ll bet it’s one of die Frauen.

The four elderly servants known as ‘die Frauen’ were: the nanny, Frau Blücher; the governess, Frau Klemperer; the housekeeper, Frau Hess; and the lady’s maid to the newly departed Clothild, Frau Hiestand. Three of them had worked together since they were young girls apprenticed to the von Puttkamer household. The fourth, Sabine Hiestand, had joined the household with Clothild when Friedrich had inherited Schönwald from his father, and the then youthful Clothild had arrived as the new mistress with her own maid. Each in her own sphere, die Frauen had worked together, loved, laughed, grown up, and grown old together. Two of them had never married, but they were all known as ‘Frau’ out of respect. They had not been apart since the day Clothild and Sabine had arrived at Schönwald. The other three had not been apart since they were young girls.

It could be Frau Hiestand, Ernst suggested. Keeping things just the way the Mistress liked.

If that’s so we can put a stop to all this nonsense just by getting my wife to establish herself as Mistress of Schönwald the way she should have been all along. There, those’re the documents I was looking for, except for a copy of Frau von Puttkamer’s Will, which I’ll have to get from the von Puttkamer attorney. I wish I’d been smart enough to demand a copy then and there. I’ll study these after Abendbrot.

You’re not planning to leave them in the open while you dine, are you, mein Herr?

Otto raised one eyebrow at Ernst, who explained, Given that there’s a chance die Frauen are leading the opposition to you, it would seem to me to be a good idea to ensure that none of them could happen upon documents that might give them information they ought not be privy to.

Otto nodded. He set the documents back inside the desk and relocked it, even while saying to Ernst, You aren’t being a bit extreme, are you?

A wise man once said, ‘Never underestimate your opponent’.

Otto grinned at his valet in appreciation. Very true. Even if it’s highly unlikely one of them would come into my library at meal time – and even if she did, what difference would it make if all the old biddies knew what the Will said, and what the court decision was?

My pageboy made a comment to me that has given me pause, mein Herr. He reported that Frau Hess is telling the servants that Herr von Puttkamer is the rightful master of Schönwald, and there’s no chance you’ll keep your title.

And that surprises you? She’s never made any secret of her feelings about me.

It doesn’t surprise me, mein Herr. It makes me wonder how she could have known anything early enough for it to be the subject of servant’s gossip around the table at Mittagessen. You did not return to Schönwald until afternoon, and did not know there was a problem yourself before you heard the Will read. How could Frau Hess have had something to say by midday?

Otto stood stock still, staring at Ernst. Mein Gott! How could she? That would mean she knew what was in the Will before it was read.

Just as I thought. The word that reached me when you returned was that you were upset and had walked off across the fields without a word to anyone, and you’d ridden Mechtild hard. I knew something dreadful had to have happened, but heard not a word of what it was. So how could Frau Hess have known what was happening before you returned, unless she knew what was in the Will before you did?

Wishful thinking, do you suppose? Hess was so open about her disgust that I won the battle last time, that she even let me overhear her tell someone it went against the laws of God for me to be called the Gutsherr of Schönwald. Isn’t it more likely that she’s harping on an old theme than that she knew what was in the Will?

That’s possible, mein Herr. Ernst’s tone told Otto he doubted it.

Well, if you don’t think that’s what it is, how likely is it that the housekeeper would know what the mistress put in her Will?

Ja, mein Herr, I see your point. It isn’t likely the housekeeper would know. It does not seem to me that Frau von Puttkamer and Frau Hess were confidants. Unless, that is, Frau Hiestand knew what her mistress had planned and told Frau Hess?

The Will was at the probate office. If you’re thinking Hiestand told Hess the contents of a confidential document, do you think she’s silly enough to do that without knowing for sure that the document the probate read was the same one she knew about?

Ernst frowned. I haven’t known her to be given to silliness.

Then I think Hess is likely reploughing tilled soil.

Nevertheless, mein Herr, I would recommend caution. Your words were, There is more to this than meets the eye, and until you know what that is it would be best to be careful in all things.

I’ll concede to your judgment for now. Now, if you’d be so kind as to lend me your level-headedness on a …

The bell rang for dinner.

That’s that until after Abendbrot, Otto said as he left for the dining room.

Otto was just as glad there were no guests expected for the evening meal. He would have had trouble making polite conversation. But when he saw the Red Room standing empty, its great table set only for one, he began to wish there had been someone else there after all.

Scharnhorst, when I’m dining alone, I would prefer to have my meal in a smaller room.

Very good, sir.

In fact, carry this meal to my library. I’d rather dine there by myself than in here.

Very good, mein Herr.

Otto picked up a plate of cold chicken and took it with him. He sat back down in his comfortable chair in front of the fire, feeding pieces of chicken meat to Haferbrei while the staff followed him with the rest of the meal and set a place for him at his small round coffee table by the window.

Even that didn’t satisfy him. He seated himself at the table, suffered himself to be served, then sent the serving girl and the footman away, telling them to send Ernst back to him.

Mein Herr, are you well? Ernst asked as he entered.

Yes, yes. I just couldn’t bear the Red Room tonight. It’s like dining in a mausoleum. I would even have preferred to have my mother-in-law back scolding me to being in there with all that silence and emptiness.

You could hire a musician, mein Herr, to do away with the silence.

In a mock serious tone Otto returned, No, I couldn’t, Ernst. Firstly, the household is still in mourning. It would be unseemly and I’d hear about it for the rest of my life. Secondly, it’s an unnecessary expense. Thirdly, if someone does walk around my table caterwauling while I’m trying to eat, I’ll be forced to dismember him with the carving knife, then I will hang and you will be unemployed, so don’t suggest anything like that ever again.

I most assuredly shall not, mein Herr. Just the merest twitch of his lips betrayed Ernst’s amusement.

Otto stopped making fun and sighed. Get them to take this away, I’ve no appetite – but you eat if you didn’t have time to finish. I’d rather eat with you.

Ja, mein Herr. Danke, mein Herr. I have had sufficient, mein Herr. It might not matter to Otto, but Ernst would never sit and eat at the table with the master.

Before the dishes were removed from the library, Otto took a bread roll, filled it with sliced meat and cheese, and took it with him to eat in his brown chair.

Ernst warmed a brandy for him, and poured it. Now that’s more like it, Otto smiled.

Die Frau is not yet strong enough to dine with you, mein Herr?

Nein, and I’m not rushing her. You know what I could do, though. I could dine with Luise.

Mein Herr?

That’s what I’ll do, Ernst. Whenever I’m dining alone, see to it that Fräulein von Goff joins me. Don’t bother giving me that look. I know she should stay in the nursery at her age. Do it anyway.

Ja, mein Herr.

Now, what was the first question we were going to discuss? Otto picked up his pad, and wrote One on the page headed Questions.

What was Frau von Puttkamer thinking? Ernst supplied.

She could have been thinking only about cutting me out.

At the expense of Frau von Goff?

Not likely. So she must have been thinking that what she was doing would be in Hildegard’s best interests. How could that be?

They stared at one another in silence for a moment, then Ernst suggested, Perhaps if you list what Frau von Puttkamer would have thought Frau von Goff’s best interests were, we can see how she might have been trying to meet them.

Otto saluted Ernst with his brandy snifter, took a sip, set the glass down, and headed up a new page, Lists.

The two worked on trying to find answers until they were interrupted by a light tapping on the library door, followed at once by Luise swinging on the door as it opened, the elderly black-gowned governess scolding her, Let go of that door knob! Do not open the door yourself! How many times must I tell you to wait until the door is opened for you?

Luise ran to her father, who scooped her up in a big hug, both ignoring the governess who continued, Do not run in your nightdress like a hoyden!

All ready for bed, sweetheart? Otto asked, sitting back down in his chair with his daughter in his lap.

Luise nodded, asking, What’re you doing?

Fräulein! Do not presume to question your father!

Oh, give it up, Frau Klemperer, Otto said impatiently.

The child must be taught proper manners, mein Herr!

So must you, evidently, since you presume to argue with your master. ‘The child’ is my child, and she’ll be taught as I say she will.

Frau Klemperer sniffed, disapprovingly.

Otto stood up, letting Luise slide off his lap to her feet, but keeping his arm around her shoulder. From now on I would prefer it if Luise came alone to say goodnight to me. The two glared at one another in stony silence for several heartbeats until Otto added, Is that clear?

I will speak to Frau von Puttkamer about this.

You commune with the dead? Does your confessor know you commit such grievous sins?

Of course I do no such thing! You know very well I was referring to the child’s mother!

I will thank you to refer to das Fräulein by name or title, and to refer to die Gutsherrin by her correct name of Frau von Goff, unless, of course you are implying that she did not marry. How do you think she would feel to know you are spreading such rumours about her?

Frau von Goff-Puttkamer knows I do no such thing!

Otto reminded her in soft, venomous tones, Frau von Goff is my wife, and as such she will agree with me. Fräulein von Goff has access to my library as I see fit, without argument from servants.

Frau Klemperer stood in rigid, speechless fury.

Otto smiled at her, nastily, then turned his attention back to Luise, asking her about her day, tickling her, and giving her a boiled lolly just to add to Frau Klemperer’s outrage.

Luise whispered in his ear, Daddy, may I have one for Kirsten?

Otto nodded, and put another one into her hand, asking, Do you like your new maid, Liebchen?

Ja, Vati, she’s really nice.

Frau Klemperer snorted.

Well? Otto asked, her, straightening up to give her a withering look.

That ‘maid’ is not fit company for the von Puttkamer heiress.

That is for me to say.

That creature is leading das Fräulein astray.

Oh, come now. Luise’s behaviour hasn’t changed one bit since Kirsten’s been with her. I doubt Kirsten has the strength of will to influence Luise even if she had a mind to, which she certainly does not.

Today that ch – Fräulein von Goff-Puttkamer left her lessons without permission and left the nursery itself without permission!

Otto shrugged. Not even you can pretend that’s Kirsten’s doing. Luise’s been doing that since she could open the door by herself. Time to say goodnight now, Liebling. I have work to do. He hugged Luise and kissed her goodnight.

Reluctantly she allowed herself to be herded out of the room by the disapproving governess.

Otto and Ernst took up their quest right where they’d left off, and worked late into the night. Finally, rubbing his eyes, Otto told Ernst, I’m going to have to ride Mechtild back to Eberswalde in the morning to see that solicitor.

Mein Herr! Ernst indicated the window. It is now snowing heavily.

Good. We need it. We haven’t had any rain or snow since Christmas.

Mein Herr, may I prevail upon you to take an entourage with you if you must travel in heavy snow? If anything should happen to you when you are alone, we might not realise to send help until it is too late. You could be lost to us.

Otto grinned, cheekily, Have you been talking to Helmuth?

Ernst’s usually wooden face became even more stiff, his way of showing disapproval. Mein Herr, this is not a cause for levity.

It most assuredly is not. If I don’t deal with this right away, Frau von Puttkamer’s legacy might be lost.

Mein Herr, if we were to lose you, Frau und Fräulein von Goff would be much worse off than they would be if they were to loose their maternal legacy, disastrous though that would be.

Otto raised one eyebrow. Worse off than losing their inheritance? How so?

You will always find a way to take care of us, regardless losses. But if you were gone …

Ah, so! Now we get to the crux of the matter. It is not tender hearted concern for me at all, it’s pure unadulterated self interest. Fear not, I have left you in my Will to my brother Johann along with my chess set.

Ernst went rigid. Mein Herr! I …

Seeing he had gone too far, Otto interrupted and said in a conciliatory tone, Look, Ernst, I have to do this. Mechtild knows the way to Eberswalde, and she knows the way home. We’ve travelled that road countless times over the years, and in worse weather than this. There’s no ice under the snow, so the good dry footing is still there for her. The snow is coming down soft and piling high, and it’s likely to get colder during the night, so nothing will melt to go icy and the snow won’t pack hard. If the weather’s too bad when it’s time to come back I’ll stay overnight in the Inn we’ve stayed at in Eberswalde. You know it.

Ernst nodded, but still didn’t speak.

Otto sighed. He didn’t like it when his jokes hurt his valet’s feelings. If I set out for home and it gets bad on the way don’t forget that my friend von Thadden’s estate is between here and Eberswalde. I can always stop off there for the night. Believe me, I have no more desire to be dead than you have to see me dead. I won’t be taking any careless risks, but I have to do this, and I can do it quite well without an entourage. So that’s the end of it. No more fussing. Well, not from you, anyway. I’m going to be running a real gauntlet to get by Emma and Helmuth in the morning. He stopped and took a sip of his brandy, then added as an afterthought, Don’t let them send out search parties unless Mechtild comes home alone.

His pleading tone got a twitch of the lips that was not quite a smile from Ernst, who asked, Surely Mechtild would never leave your side if you were in trouble, mein Herr?

Don’t start. Otto’s voice was threatening, but his eyes were full of fun.

Which solicitor have you decided to see, mein Herr? Not the one who drew up the documents in your defence of Schönwald last time?

Herr Augustin. Otto supplied the name. I know, I know, he